The mall was half-empty on a Tuesday, its glass storefronts casting long reflections on the polished tile. Shimada didn’t usually hold hands in public. But today — maybe because his boyfriend had gently reached for his hand without asking, maybe because things had been good lately — he let himself relax into it.

Their hands swung slightly between them, a quiet rhythm. They talked about nothing in particular. Lunch. A film neither of them had seen. The kind of everyday chatter that made life feel normal.

Then, a shape in the crowd.

He almost missed him.

But something in the walk — the slight hunch, the slow pace — caught Shimada’s eye. His chest went still before his mind caught up.

Shouya Ishida.

He hadn't changed much. Maybe taller. Maybe sharper in the jaw. But the eyes were the same. Tired. Guarded. Like they expected impact.

Shimada’s fingers tightened instinctively around his boyfriend’s. Too late to turn around. Shouya had already seen him.

Their eyes met.

Shimada froze — not enough to be obvious, just a slight hitch in his step. But his boyfriend noticed, glancing sideways.

“You okay?”

Shimada nodded. Too quickly.

Shouya didn’t say a word. He didn’t even stop. Just looked, just long enough to confirm recognition, and kept walking past them, hands in his pockets.

But it burned. That silence. That knowledge hanging in the space between them like a thread pulled taut.

Shimada’s stomach twisted.

His boyfriend gave his hand a light squeeze again. “Someone you know?”

Shimada didn’t answer right away.

“Old classmate,” he muttered after a beat, eyes fixed forward. “We weren’t close.”